Well, today was Graduation Day for my year. Cost over 100 quid to attend and then another 30 to hire the gown and morar-board. I cunningly refused to play ball, to avoid my parents paying shitloads of moolah to sit through some piss-poor speeches and numerous references to Desmond bloody Tutu - the only King's alumnus worth remembering, apparently. Thus, I feel guilt-free when suggesting/demanding a meal In My Honour during the mini-family holiday at the start of August. 1-0 to Mike. Kind of.

Even more cunningly, I turned up to the graduation anyway, just after it had finished. It was in the Barbican and I strolled in just as people were filing out of the presentation hall, and just in time for bucketloads of free wine and nibbles. As I had suspected, the event was a veritable social minefield - I nimbly manouevred (spelling?) my way through several people I hadn't seen in a few years, all of whom were polite enough for our brief conversation, but all of whom also found time to demonstrate just why I hadn't seen them in a few years (spittle while talking, over-enthusiastic handshake, 20-second attention span, gout, etc). I daresay I did likewise (obnoxious). Still, I had a bottle's worth of wine and saw some people I genuinely wanted to see - admittedly, one of whom I live with.

Anyone notice the weather today? It was really really hot. Really hot. I can't be more accurate, but my God I am caked in sweat right now. (Luckily our shower has been fixed.) I walked from Victoria to the Barbican, stopping in a lot of parks and outside museums and frollicking in fountains (Somerset House) and even spending money in Starbucks (Caramel Frappacino - it's a fucking meal, I tell you, and it's gorgeous).

OOOOOOOOOOhhhhhhh it's so hot. I want to do some TV schtick - to go on about Dr Who's last episode and spout some more reasons why the first season was superior. I also want to sing the praises of Rob Brydon's Annually Retentive, which is the best new BBC comedy in absolutely ages by a country mile. They should buy the rights to The Larry Sanders Show off ITV4 and screen it straight after - the perfect double-bill. A bit of postmodernism is nice in sitcoms, and this is done very, very cleverly - with the celebrities who send themselves up allowing far more shit to be flung at them than those who appeared on Sanders did. Dominic Diamond took an absolute battering, very funny. Apparently it's Russell Brand next week, which I look forward to.

I want to do all that, but I'm so hot all I'm going to do is buy some cider and go home to catch the end of Lois and Clark on ITV2.

Won't feel so rotten as soon as you've gotten some cider inside your insde - Roald Dahl, you're a genius.